


A Human Passion Burns Within

by Ritzy_bird



Series: Jearmin Week 2019 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: Jearmin Week 2019 Day 1: LibraryOn his deathbed, Jean promises he can finish his last painting; If only he could survive.Which he does, and Armin seems intent on helping him keep his word.





	A Human Passion Burns Within

**Author's Note:**

> Had some vodka writing this. It was supposed to be short story practice, I SWEAR! Thanks to Chellyla on tumblr for beta reading the first half of this baby. Vodka only does half the creative work, if at all. Looking for multiple betas if any of you are interested, as I spent way too long reading over my drafts before publishing them.

**February**

"Please, just... I just need more time." Jean rasped, clammy hands clenching his dirty bed sheets. The rain outside was just loud enough to be heard, but it wasn't enough to drown out the thundering pain in his head.   
  
"_Mmhph_\-- p-please." His eyes were squinting, staring at the only window in his room. He'd cursed it only yesterday for letting the sunlight in, forcing him awake with each sunrise. Now? The sky was dark and he could barely see. There was just no winning.  
  
Spring would be here soon, it had to be. That's what the rain was for, wasn't it? A sign of warm weather, fresh air, new beginnings?   
  
He turned and exhaled painfully, staring at the silhouette of his wildest dream, and biggest disappointment: One massive, partially painted canvas.  
  
"I, I _need_ to finish it," A hot tear threatened to run as he pleaded with presumably no one. "I can fi-finish it...."   
  
Winter hadn't been kind to Jean- hell the entire last year hadn't been kind! And he thought for sure this sickness would finally be the end of him. A few months ago, he would have accepted that just fine. But now, _now?_  
  
"A... year. Just, a _year_, the--" His lungs froze for a moment, and he was wracked with violent coughs that were sharp enough he was sure his throat would bleed from them. "The end, of the year, that's all.... I know I can do it, _just give me_, the **_year_**."   
  
It was a promise made to no one, to anything. Jean wasn't much of a believer, and it may have been the pinching in his gut or the fiery hot needles in his muscles, but on that morning he was convinced someone _had_ to be listening. And if there was anything left in this life that Jean cared about, it was that **damn** painting.

**April**

One, two, three, and, "_There_!" More progress, and as Jean took his deep sigh of satisfaction he'd realized something; He felt fine. For the first time in months, his body, physically speaking, gave him no issues. His arm didn't fight him when making a broad, upper stroke with a brush. His knee didn't buckle from standing too long. His stomach didn't wretch and convince the rest of himself to throw itself on the ground. His eyes didn't strain, his brain didn't _pound_!

For a moment, he smiled. This wasn't something he'd noticed happening, or at least that he wanted to admit. Too long did he go from bad, to worse, to bad, and to worse again. It was supposed to be his doom, yet here he was, undertaking his favorite piece yet.

"Don't know what I'm gonna call you yet...." He gently caressed the starting corner of the canvas, which had been dry for months now. Cobalt and raw umber fighting each other for room had now bled into a more eye-catching rosey, mauve swirl. 

"'Needs, ... hmmm. Something else." This would be Jean's only concern, from now on. He was sure of it.

**May**

"Jean! My Gods it's been _ages_," A familiar feminine voice called out from across the street, getting closer to where Jean was presently shopping.

"Ohw... huh?" Jean turned slightly, almost in a daze. He became more alert, and pleased, as he recognized an old, old classmate beelining through the sluggish traffic to meet him.

"Sasha, I... h-hey I haven't, I haven't seen you in years." He managed to breathe out, amused. There was the slightest of panics that rose in him, and along with it came a short sinking in his chest. How much had he left behind? Maybe she hadn't heard, and maybe that wasn't excitement in her voice, and maybe a lot of things maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Regardless, she kept coming with a smile on her face, "You won't _believe_ what I'm here lookin' for!" 

"I don't know, wh--" 

"No no, no! Come on, we'll talk about it over lunch, I passed at least a few good lookin' places on my way here." She'd interrupted, linking her arm with his and pulling him away without any other explanation. 

Jean couldn't bring himself to refuse, though the sinking in his chest twinged with pain and grew ever so slightly at the realization he'd have to buy more paint another day. What was one small delay, however, when old friends were involved? After all, he still had half a year to finish the damn thing. He had time.

**August**

Wedding, gala, parade, fundraiser, birthday: Around and around Jean went. Sasha getting hitched, and the very late invitation Jean had received to it, sparked a yearning in Jean's life that had once only been satisfied by his art. Where there'd been his desperation for self expression was now replaced with the need to see it from others. 

And it was an absolute _thrill_. Mostly new faces, and a few old? Impromptu plans and unexpected opportunities? Things Jean didn't live for, by any means, but a massive change of pace for him.

Tonight he had two real choices; Burn through this burst of creativity and continue on painting, _or_, take up the offer made by the overly flirtatious barman from the other night. A few months ago, this would have been an easy decision. He needed to finish his painting, which was closing up on being halfway finished soon.

"Vermilion, sap, and sienna, and, _and_\--!" There was a huff of frustration as he stepped back, trying to get the bigger picture in his mind again. "Something's _missing_\- and if I could _just_ find," He knelt on the floor, rummaging through different tubes of pre-mixed colors and loose pigments. 

But one quick dart of the eyes upward to reassess his work, and back again, did he get a sense that he was close to a breakthrough. The bigger picture, becoming clearer from down there on the floor, staring up at the monstrous canvas he's now certain he'd overpaid for. If he worked through tonight, and tomorrow, his last day off for the week? He could get halfway, he could go _beyond_ that his vision was so clear now.

He was still. Intimidating as his project certainly was, he wasn't worried of losing sight of his vision if he left now. No, no he was _sure_ he would still have it clear as day in his mind's eye even if he broke his creative streak for a few drinks and maybe a tussle at a stranger's place. But, maybe he would lose that vision, and it would put him back by _weeks_....

Jean left soon after. Wouldn't want to upset his date.

**December**

A year, the end of **the** year, did it really make much a difference? A year's a year, and it hadn't quite passed yet. That's how Jean saw it, or tried to anyway, as time had escaped him the past few months.

"_Whew!_ Okay. Okay. Alright. What do you want from me?" It was a good question. Unfortunately, the canvas nor the brush would ever give him an answer. There used to be clear vision, something grand or incredible he'd never taken on before. Not the Mona Lisa, but _his_ Mona Lisa, as it were. 

This was for Jean, and he knew that it got him through his sickness. He'd crafted the idea on a sleepless night, and what little strength he'd ever had through the winter was bled onto the canvas. It wasn't that easy now, not with his ambiguous, ambitious deadline looming over his shoulder. 

"Nearly there," The last third was mocking him, more than the last, which was an all too bland abstract whirlwind of bright colors that contrasted so much to the point he knew he'd have to go back and _tweak_ it. "I could just..." A sigh. "Could just--" An inkling of an idea sprouted in his mind; inspiration in the making. 

"I could, finish...." Finish the painting that could have been done with months ago, if only he had tried harder. 

And as soon as inspiration was ready to strike, Jean remembered he had research to do; Work had to be as important as his painting, now. He'd get the painting done, or, maybe he wouldn't. But it was just a painting, and he had work to do.

**March**

"Excuse me," Jean began hurriedly, cursing himself for having forgotten to go to the library the day beforehand instead of sleeping in all day. And now? He had nearly a month's worth of work ahead of him and little time to refresh his memory on 'Local Flora History & Symbolism'. "I really need to know if you have--"

"Notnow." A curt answer was given to him by the employee who had then, and was now, passing him by. They moved around the counter barely 3 feet away from Jean, and proceeded to help an entirely different person. 

For how bewildering it was, Jean stood there in silence and started chewing on the inside of his mouth. His brows were furrowed, shoulders stiff, and eyes boring down on the group in front of him. It might have been something to worry about, for the man who might as well have ignored Jean, but they didn't even spare him a glance.

"This, _this_ is different, you were right about that at least," They ran their pale fingers over the spine of the book, which was almost a burgundy color from Jean's perspective. "And old," The chuckle they let out, _like any chuckle _in Jean's mind, sounded flat. Something only there to fill the void in the air. 

"Authentic, yea? Just like we said!" It was here that Jean noticed a woman off to the side, a large satchel over her shoulder which presumably held more dusty old books that only some _dead end _librarian would care about. 

"Old, unique," The librarian flipped the book to it's other side, carefully, and opened it from its back, "But authentic? Not really in the sense you _told_ me it was." The look he gave them was, lacking, in some way Jean couldn't place. Their eyes were clear and as blue as the sky, though despite his words, they weren't angry, or annoyed, or judgmental. Did he expect, _whatever_ disappointment had clearly befallen him? If anything, his eyes betrayed the situation, he looked _invested_ in this.

"Wh-- No, look you haven't even flipped through any of the pages! What ever happened to not judging books by their cover, hm?" The woman returned, moving forward to flip through said pages herself, gesturing toward sections like they were evidence.

The librarian smiled, just a small amount, and looked down at the pages slowly, "I'm not saying that this isn't a copy from the right century; It's just not an _original_. The leather's the right age, the end quote is the same, _but you see this_?" He flipped to the back of the book, gently pointing at the seam, "The glue here? It's a little messy, and it's not as dark as it should be. The original, _lord forbid_, if messy, would have stained the paper. This didn't. And the spine?" 

Their index and forefingers dances slowly in circles, tracing the patterns pressed into the leather. He did this almost perfectly, like he knew what it was meant to be like, or some strange habit he may have picked up. Jean hadn't even noticed how invested he himself became in this, his shoulders having loosened. 

"It's like someone just put random circles all over this. I'm guessing they knew what the originals looked like, and to sell the same aesthetic and make it more recognizable they just put the next best design they could think of instead of putting in all the extra work. The original would have very specific clockwork half-spirals and vertical, counter-clockwise roundels." His eyes were squinted now, piercing down at the book like it was a true impostor and not just, well, some knock-off. 

The couple did not look pleased, the man between the two of them yanking the book away from the librarian, "Well if you're not going to buy it then you could have just said that to begin with." 

"Is there," The woman sighed, opening her satchel and letting the man with her shove the book inside, "_Anything_ _else_ wrong with it?"

"Oh well, the leather's the wrong color. This one's got an almost dusty rose color to it, and the original would have been more of a burnt tan-hide-- _Which_," The couple started walking away, the tension clear within them as they stomped off quickly. "Means that it's not a fake, juuuust a different... version." The librarian talked after them anyway, his voice quieting as he finished.

"Uhhh...." Jean didn't know what to really say, he was so confused. "This isn't a museum, is it?" It was a joke, or an attempt at one. Part of him felt bad for being so ticked off beforehand.

The librarian turned, the somewhat neutral expression on his face twitching to one of, dare Jean assume it, superiority. "Why? Because I tried to buy an old book?" Despite his appearance, his voice wasn't condescending in the slightest. Which was a bummer, as Jean was ready to let off some steam and give a little snark of his own.

"I mean, _that_, and well, you were talking about that book like it was, like it was a piece of art or something." Jean almost blushed as he realized that he was feeling a sort of admiration for this man's attention to detail. 

"Oh? Writing is a form of art. _In some circles_." He muttered the last part, moving towards Jean's end of the counter so they could talk face to face. "What do you know about art?" In any other way, from any other person, perhaps any other _face_, that question would have been an insult, one that might even strike a nerve in Jean. 

"Actually I'm-- well _was _a uh, painter. But I mean, this isn't a museum or anything right?" Eager to change the subject, Jean glanced in the direction the couple had left in. "I mean a book's a book, right? If you needed it does it even really matter if it's not 'original'?"

"I, _heh_, sort of...." They looked lost for words. "What did you need again?" And there came the polite smile again.

Jean could feel the embarrassment spread through his body with more intensity, and he tried running his tongue roughly against his teeth to keep his blushing at bay. He didn't openly admit his career, not unless explicitly asked. 

And yet?

"See, I'm sort of a florist? And I need a _pretty_ good book on... local plants' symbolism." Jean laughed awkwardly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

The librarian didn't hold any obvious judgement on their face as they stepped out from behind the counter and began walking away. If Jean hadn't been paying such close attention to his movement, he would have completely missed the small gesture. It was brief, his hand at his hip beckoning him onward like a dog.

Jean followed anyway, quick to meet their stride.

"What do you paint?" 

"_Ah_hhaha, I dont, really. Anymore that is!"

"Yeah, you're a... florist who needs a touch up on what flowers mean." It was snark, _but not_. Humorous, yet sincere. All together it was borderline infuriating for Jean to decipher. "Oh, are you serious?" They gave Jean direct eye contact for a second- too quick for Jean to read. But maybe, they sounded disappointed?

It reminded Jean of his unfinished painting, which he'd promised to complete within the year which had come and gone months ago. There was a pang of dread that lived in his spine, in his lungs, his throat. It stirred, every now and then, but Jean tried to blink away the memory.

The silence didn't seem to upset the librarian, who Jean assumed must've just been making idle small talk anyway. "I'm interested in history-- and I was _going_ to pay for that book out of pocket mind you, but! The library let's me because I just donate anything rare I like straight back here. It's aaaa...." They rotated their hand in the air, "Old privilege? That I get to have. I-I'm trusted!" He reassured, giving a more shocked look back at Jean. "It's not about the money, trust me."

Jean didn't think it was anything like, well, any of the things they'd just brought up. "Really? You don't look that old, ha, I mean do...? You like history that much-- I guess, I don't know you don't seem like you've worked here long, is all!" The stammering and tripping over words didn't help with his initial implication. 

"Hahahah_aah--mmh_!" He covered his mouth to muffle the laughter, but it was shortly over. "You're a florist that doesn't know _flowers_ and now you're saying I'm old? Maybe you should go back to painting." 

He prayed this was all lighthearted humor and not a crippling memory to think back on late at night when he was trying to sleep. "I-I'm sorry-- what is your name? I'm sorry I didn't mean--"

"_Relax_. And it's Armin." They replied too calmly for Jean to make heads or tails of it being forgiveness. But he didn't have much time to think it over, as Armin wordlessly swiped a book off a table, whipped around, and pressed its spine against Jean's chest, startling him. "There ya' go Jean." He, he _giggled_, and kept walking- as if he'd never stopped. 

Jean was stunned as he held the book close to him, "Local Flora History & Symbolism...." He murmured, mind melting into _goop_ as he stamped into his mind the last glance he'd gotten of Armin's face. A toothy smile, with dimples, and bright _amused_ eyes that certainly didn't convey any ill intent. Jean wasn't being mocked, no, no not at all. _No_, he was smitten, which was much worse.

**June**

"You're finally going to let me see your paintings!?" Armin gasped with delight, stepping through Jean's front door first. 

"Wh-what?" They'd been seeing each other here and there for the past couple of months. After, of course, Jean had spent the entire first blowout of spring orders procrastinating his return to the library. "I just, you wanted to see my place-- What was this just so you could see my old art?"

Armin sucked in the back of his cheeks, shaking his head gently before he let out a scoff, "I told you before; Art and history go hand in hand, and you're always so, so _secretive_ about it! I just...." Breathing out a sigh, he reached out with both hands and grabbed Jean's free one.

The look on his face now was so gentle, Jean tried to forgive the slight judgement. "I know, I know." He wasn't comfortable enough in their almost-relationship yet to start rolling his eyes at every nuisance, but he was tempted. "Don't you like my arrangements? That's art!" 

"They're not permanent though, are they? You can't, _mm_, keep your best around for very long...." Armin sounded wistful as he let Jean's hand slip away and wandered towards a topiary by the window. He rubbed a white rhododendron's petals between his fingers, smiling, "Where'd you--?" 

Rhododendrons were Armin's favorite, and while Jean tried to find some purple ones to suit his preference? He knew the white ones would satisfy. "I, grew them," Jean began quietly, mustering the confidence he knew he needed. "And I know how much you love them- and not just because _rhododendron_ is fun to say." He exaggerated on the word, the most he would do to mock the man he'd been trying so hard to impress.

"Are they? Mine?" Armin was more shy about it now, but he must have had better control over how his body reacted to his emotions, because unlike Jean? There was no blush on his face to be found.

"Yeah," He joined Armin at the window, and carefully wrapped his arm around Armin's waist, "I thought you could... take them home with you tomorrow." The eye contact would ordinarily spook Jean, but he could hold the gaze this time. Even if his heart might've been shaking and his breath might've made a run for it....

"Tomorrow, huh?" Armin let a thin lipped smirk spread on his face, and it didn't take long for him to run one of his hands up Jean's chest. "What are we doing tonight?"

Jean wasn't sure if Armin liked to do this just to watch him squirm, or if the flirting game was just something he fell back on whenever things got uncomfortable. One day, he'd hoped, the mystery would be solved.

"Dinner." He stated firmly, electing not to invite innuendo into this somewhat romantic endeavor. "And apparently, heh, a tour of my art gallery too." 

In truth? Those who'd ever taken an interest in Jean's painting, he'd never quite trusted with the full "gallery", and rhododendrons weren't the only thing he wanted to use to express his affections. 

Armin slowly let go of the flirty face, though the excitement lingered on. Jean pushed the thoughts away, as much as he liked the idea, and started to lead Armin away. There were definitely nerves, but he kept trying to beat them down, even when they had his hands clamming up.

The "gallery" was actually just, Jean's room! The biggest one in the house, if you didn't count the kitchen. He'd planned on bringing Armin into his room _later_ when the sun had gone down, so that they could watch the sun set as they ate their dinner. But this was a change he might just be okay with by the end of the night.

Most of the paintings were covered in tarps to preserve them, leaned up against the back wall where they were less likely to be damaged. Armin let go of Jean almost immediately, his excitement coming to a head.

"What do you-- Can I look at them all? But, tell me what you use!" Armin kept his attention on the few canvases that weren't covered, and as per his own line of work knew not to touch their surfaces. 

It was intimidating, to let one person aside from himself see _all_ his art, but, Jean nodded anyway. "Yeah no, sure. And, _erhhm_, I? I guess it's all a sort of mix." He almost longed for the containers of paints and supplies, which were now piled up in a corner by the door. They were all here in his room, for easy access in case he ever....

"Why's this, _ehhrrr_, big one, flipped around?" Armin had moved a few of the medium canvases to the side, propping them up against another wall. 

The... feeling in his back had returned. 

"Is it finished? You know we _could_ start hanging some of these up? Oh! I know, there's this guy I work with who--"

"_Armin_! Don't, that's, I-I'm not finished with that one yet! Please...." No fear, no stress, no anxiety, no worry, no, no, no, he just didn't want to _think_ about it and so Armin couldn't _know_ about it.

"Oh." Armin perked up, looking over his shoulder at Jean with that gentle, unassuming expression he liked to wear. "I thought you said you don't paint anymore?" 

"I don't," Jean couldn't keep his shoulders from tensing, and he sighed as he looked at one of his smaller, hung paintings on the wall. An abstract, messy recreation of a snow rabbit in a summery green field. A mess of water colors before he'd understood the base techniques of such a complicated medium. "I just, I'll get to that one when I get to it, y'know?" He forced a smile, aiming his thumb at his tower of supplies.

Armin nodded, leaning back down to inspect a different canvas, "Yeah, I've been there before. One day you'll finish it though." He hummed knowingly, a sort of teasing he was prone to. Jean liked mapping out Armin's quirks, and though his confidence had been shaken loose he was sure that Armin, too, loved learning things about him in turn.

**October**

"I just don't know if I want to finish _that_ painting, Armin." Jean huffed, wiping the cerulean-phthalocyanine hell mixture off his fingers. This was the last time he would try to recreate vacation memories in a painting! Especially one of the ocean. But Armin had _insisted_ it would be a good practice piece. All it ended up being was a lesson in patience. Which Jean did _not_ have!

Armin shifted his eyes to the side: His version of eye-rolling. Maybe Jean was crazy, but he was starting to think the cooler weather just didn't agree with Armin. They'd had their differences when it came to whether or not Jean should pursue painting, but now that the flowers were all _dying_, Armin had it in his head that he needed an alternative form of income. 

"Gourds and late cornflower bouquets are, _striking_ visually but you did that last year, right? And now everyone's going to be doing that." It was a valid point; Jean had picked up flower arrangements specifically because no other florist in the city was taking advantage of the language of flowers. Now that Jean had spent well over a year bringing it to fashion? Every florist was renting 'Local Flora History & Symbolism'. 

"Look-- This _wave_ won't even come out right!" Jean hissed, slapping his current paintbrush down on his workbench. Realism was never his thing, and the more abstract and creative he'd tried to recreate the first night of their small trip, the less it looked the part. "Can't I just, I don't know, get more creative with arrangements? I don't _have_ to do the same thing again."

Armin readjusted himself on the couch, straightening his back and setting his book to the side. He was watching Jean, letting him have the silence he needed to think. He'd been such a fast learner, not that Jean made it very difficult. Figuring out what he _didn't_ like was easy for anyone that knew him. But Armin made it his mission to learn two things Jean did enjoy in between, or at least that's how Jean had come to think of Armin's snappy ideas and solutions to most of Jean's complaints.

The sincerity of it was touching, and had he met Armin a year sooner? There was no way in this life or the next that he would have gotten more than a moment of Armin's time or affections. Jean liked to think they found each other at a good time.

"I... _I'm_ an artist."

Armin's famously harmless expression twisted with a smile, "Ah, yeah? Kind of my whole point 'hon."

Jean rolled his head back, giving Armin slanted eyes and a crooked frown that was designed to hide the smile trying to break through. He'd never seen Armin so much as pick up a brush before, and Jean wondered if the reason for this was because he kept his inner artist fettered behind some... commitment to his academics.

They hadn't gotten to the mind-reading part of their relationship yet, or at least Jean hoped not; But Armin was intelligent enough to work through Jean's simple and firm declare. It took him time of course, and Jean watched it happen. The way Armin leaned to the side some, the small parting of his lips as he came closer to a full idea. Armin's eyes didn't always tell a story, but this time, they did; widening, without shock, and blinking just _a bit_ more often.

Finally, a sigh with closed eyes. A deep breath, and, "Do you remember that book? That uhm," He looked up at the ceiling, which must have given Armin the answer he was looking for. Looking Jean in the eye, there was a new, almost serious feeling that came with Armin's demeanor. "It was an old book. The one I tried to buy at the library?"

How could Jean ever forget!? It was a mistake of a day, the closest either of them would get to a happy little accident. 

"That book, was a, _massive_ collection of poetry from a long time ago." 

"And you like poetry?" This was news to him, but, if this was something new to learn about his new love then? He'd have to respect that.

"No, hhm. I..." Armin looked down at nothing, eyes filling with a yearning Jean had seen on happy occasions in the past. "Someone else loved poetry _enough_ to," He looked back up at Jean with a curious look all over his face and a bright, toothy smile to match. "To--! They, they created a book with _over_ a hundred pages, with ink that didn't bleed and, and they took the time to press such a complicated pattern into its spine. They used a tan-hide leather instead of a dark black or that _hideously_ fascinating rosewood. And I just... like to know why. _Why_ they loved poetry that much, to do all that work, and _still_ make over a dozen copies of it all with the same work put into it! Why things were the way they were." 

"What were they even _doing_ then that they had the time for all that!?" Armin laughed, shaking his head before focusing on the unfinished ocean painting. "Why do _you_ paint, Jean? It's not for money, even though we _both_ know you could be."

Jean readjusted his posture to face Armin more directly. Was he running out of breath, just standing there? There was a tingle in his spine, unlike the unsavory ones he'd had before. It was warm, it was going _down_ and it made his legs want to quiver. It was in his stomach, and it was a _good_ feeling. Appreciation? Admiration? Adoration? Another affectionate word that started with the letter 'A'?

"If you don't want to paint something realistic, then don't." Armin sighed, but there was no frown on his face as he looked to what Jean had been, up until now, considering a failure of a painting. "Whatever it is that, convinced you to paint so much... what makes you so happy?"

"A--" 

"You don't have to tell me," Armin interrupted, and just as Jean felt a sting in his eyes. "I just want you to do it. Whatever it is. But you don't have to tell me, Jean, i-it's...." He breathed out and relaxed, his face as soft as ever. Eyes full of... love. "I want it to be for you."

**July**

Moving in together would have been so much easier if Armin hadn't insisted on hanging up Jean's finished, unsold paintings. At the time, slightly tipsy and having been up all day and night trying to rearrange the new furniture they'd bought, it sounded like a good idea. Anyone they invited over could just, fall in love with any work on the walls and beg to buy it off of them right then and there.

Jean had taken up Armin's suggestion to continue painting, and to make money through his honest passion. His floral arrangements paid for canvases, and his paintings in turn funded his ever growing garden of plants; Local and exotic alike. 

Something had changed over the winter. A feeling Jean couldn't just shake away, that dragged him down and kept him inside. Weddings, galas, dinner parties- even simple nights out in the city with the man he _loved_.... Jean was finding trouble committing to any of it. Now as Armin eyed the stack of unfinished paintings, Jean's bones shifted from their core. 

Would Armin find him to be crazy? Or perhaps it would be seen as a poor excuse for his behavior the past few months. Moving in together was supposed to bring them closer, not create strain. 

"Armin do... you want to see that one?" Jean was careful, and there was no mistaking which one he could have possibly been talking about. After all, this has been a mystery Armin had pondered for well over a year now. Other old paintings had since been finished, and some still weren't, but the one Jean had _promised_ on? He had only ever looked back on it from time to time. Never adding to it, not even once.

"Well of course I do! Did you work on it at all?" Armin was respectful in not going to grab at it himself, patiently waiting for Jean to do the honors.

"No." He whispered, walking over to the pile and carefully grabbing each side of the canvas. The reveal was nothing spectacular, as it was an almost but never done disaster that Jean couldn't see the vision of anymore. He turned around, knelt, and set it down in front of him, supporting it himself.

Armin's face was unreadable, for an amount of time Jean could only measure in the shaky breaths he took and the growing itch of his spine in between. Nothing was wrong with the painting- It wasn't any better or worse than the rest, just....

"You know what I just noticed?" Armin spun around, and Jean had been at this avoidance game long enough to catch the smile before it disappeared. "No yellow."

"What...?" Jean didn't follow. By now he was used to the roundabout way Armin came to some conclusions. A sort of performance, _or_ if Jean were upset about something? A distraction.

"There's, not a lot of yellow in your paintings! At least not the ones you make for yourself," Armin walked through the room, rotating around slowly and looking at all the paintings he'd just hung.

Jean's eyebrows were cross, unsure if this was the kind of distraction he wanted right now. "I don't particularly? _Like_ yellow?"

"Why?"

No one had ever asked him that before, not that it was an interesting topic. Jean hated small talk. Though favorite colors did come up when it came to flowers and which he would recommend for certain situations. 

"Okay there's, a time and place for yellow but? I don't know, it's just so, so... bright! Unnatural. I like orange?"

Armin mocked being offended, bringing a hand up to his chest and giving a small frown. It wasn't one of those exaggerated pouts but, Jean knew he would never frown like that seriously. "What, you don't like yellow?"

He took a strand of his hair and flicked it over his shoulder, "But my _hair_ is yellow."

"Pfft! _What_!? In what world? I mean, _barely_ dear it's, it's about as yellow as straw. I'm talking daisies and buttercups, lemon and, and _Gamboge_. Not, hheheh, not you." He waved his hand frantically towards his most successful realism piece on the wall; A sunflower field at sunset which was fittingly named 'Gamboge'. Or as fitting as Jean could get things? He wasn't that great with names before he met Armin.

"'Still yellow! What else don't you like about me, hm? You don't like my oxfords do you?" Armin tugged at the hem of his shirt, which, while plain, was obviously not ugly. Jean never knocked Armin's sense of fashion! Even if that was only because Armin didn't really have one....

Armin didn't quit there though, unbuttoning what few hadn't already been undone for comfort earlier. For someone making a case to use more yellow, Armin never got much sun. His chest was so pale, or it must have been underneath all the short, wavy hairs covering him up. Jean could have made some joke about how he'd hate anything that covered up Armin's body _but_\--

"Stop me when you see something you don't like." Armin dared quietly, rolling his shoulders to let the shirt slide off and onto the floor. 

There was a pause in Jean's whole body as he realized what kind of "distraction" this was heading towards, and as much as the shift in his pants wanted to drop the canvas and go for it? The chill in his spine was stronger.

Armin wasn't going to just stand there and wait for a reaction, no, that wasn't like him. Eyes still locked with Jean's, he lifted one of his legs, using his raised foot to gently pull down the sock on the other. Cute. Once it was loose enough he did the same with his other foot, and he stepped backwards and out of his socks. "_Brrr_."

The mocking whisper should have made Jean laugh, as it certainly wasn't cold. It was the middle of _summer_, there wasn't a single night anyone in their right mind would deem cold.

"Maybe you should put some clothes on." Jean mumbled to break the gaze, staring at the small pile of clothes on the floor. 

"_Yeah_," Armin agreed, inching towards the hallway. "Stop hiding behind that painting and come with me, I'll find something nice to wear." The flirtatious tone was, _enough_ to get Jean to swallow hard and cloud his mind. These were two very different feelings struggling for focus. 

Before he knew it, Armin had slinked away with a muffled giggle down the hall. Jean shook away the confusion, stood up, and let the canvas clonk back onto the pile so he could follow.

Of course Armin had gone into the bedroom. He was there waiting for him, standing beside their new bed with the comforter held up to his chest and hiding the rest of his body from view. Jean didn't need to check, but his peripheral vision caught Armin's pants on the far side of the room.

Sighing, Jean resisted the urge to roll his shoulders in a feeble attempt to rid himself of the dread that had been gnawing at him. "Armin...." He accepted the wordless invitation to get onto the bed, and let his body language do the rest of the work.

Armin slipped right on next to him, but stayed under the comforter. The flirty facade loosened from his demeanor, and instead a more gentle and attentive expression took over. "I just thought, you know with... with everything you might just wanna...." Armin's eyes darted down towards the sheets, a sad smile creeping on his face.

"Oh, gods-- _'Hon_ I'm sorry, it-it's not that. It's not you. It's... it's that painting." Jean sighed, guilt twisting in his stomach at how he'd been behaving. 

"Didn't I make myself clear? Just splash some yellow on it: Done!" Armin snickered, fingers playing with a loose strand of his "yellow" hair. 

Jean couldn't refuse the smile Armin was owed, but didn't look him in the eye. "Yeah but I can't... finish that painting. I just can't." 

"What's wrong, Jean?" He readjusted, sitting upward. Did he want to say more, or could he sense that Jean was working on an explanation as they spoke? Maybe it was both.

"Okay," Jean took a breath and forced himself to meet Armin's eyes again, which were clear with concern. "This was _years_ ago, okay? The year before we met, but, I was in a really, _really_ bad place. And I got sick, right? During the winter and, and I was dying. Alright I _knew_ it. I could **_feel it_** in my, my everything." He hissed out the stressful words, his arm muscles straining as he remembered the feeling of being stuck in that bed for weeks.

Armin's face didn't change, and he didn't move, and most importantly he didn't speak. 

"I started that _damn_ painting as a, way to pass the time through the winter but I was," A sting came to his eyes, but he blinked it away. "_Dying_, and I know it sounds _crazy_ but I thought that if I could finish it then,"

Blink.

"Then everything would be okay again. But I couldn't get it done in time, and I just _begged_ to keep going so that I could finish it. I just wanted to finish it."

Blink.

"And I-I-I'm not really much of a believer you know? But I just, got better so fast after that and I was so happy that I just started doing things. And the more I did, the less I worked on the painting because I...."

Jean stared at nothing, his gaze slowly lowering to the small space on the mattress between them. 

One more blink and, he was fine. Composed. And Jean knew he had to look Armin in the eye, so that if nothing else, he would understand that he was being serious.

"I asked for a year- _no,_ less than that. 'Til the end of the year. So I could finish it and that, then... then I'd go." He didn't have to specify where exactly he'd be going.

Armin again, didn't change. Nothing other than the occasional necessary blinking as he kept the nonjudgmental gaze on Jean. His breathing was calm, his shoulders weren't tense. There was no evident fear or amusement.

"I-I'd plaster that whole damn thing in yellow for you if I could Armin but--"

"You think if you finish _that_ painting, you'll die." 

Jean nodded silently, sucking in his bottom lip to bite on. It sounded insane. Jean was insane! He had to be. Hearing it out loud, not just in the back of his mind or the strangest of his nightmares but out loud, from Armin? It was insane. But it was _the truth_, it was what _made sense_.

"Did you have a fever?" 

"Well yeah-- ...Armin, _no_."

"Jean," He raised a hand to rest on Jean's shoulder softly. "You were just sick, and when you got _better_, you tried new things and then got worried they'd be taken away. And--"

"No!" Jean shifted backwards. "What if They get _mad_ at me? What if They're getting impatient and th-then just come for me anyway? What if I finish it and I just... leave everyone." Blink.

Armin's lips parted with a gentle sigh, and they stayed that way as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Did you ever think," The whisper was low, almost dark in tone. "They might've made you so sick you thought you were dying to... give you a reason to keep going?"

Bewildered, Jean blinked enough to beat back anything else that wanted to escape his eyes for the rest of the night. "I... I _had_ it already, m-my painting! I always wanted to start a painting like that one it, it wasn't because I was _sick_!"

"That's not, _uhhf_, not what I meant." Armin drew his hand back, eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again there was a sincerity familiar to Jean. "You said Sasha's wedding was the first one you'd ever been to. If you hadn't gotten sick, you would have finished it before ever running into her again. You said you 'just started doing things' afterwards, right? Would you..." His hand made its way over to Jean's, fingertips caressing fingertips. "Would you have done any of it, if you didn't think you'd been given another chance?"

Jean had never thought of the ambiguous and limitless power of gods like that before. That year prior to him getting sick had been so, _terrible_ that he.... "I don't know, I... all I cared about was painting." He murmured, remembering how there was a time when the only thing he could do right was paint.

"Why? I mean why _that_ painting? What's so special about it?" Armin had the right to ask, although he couldn't possibly understand it. Jean didn't even quite understand it.

It took a lot of thought, and none at all. It was complicated and simple, everything to do with who Jean was but _nothing_ to do with who he is now. The love he felt for painting couldn't be compared to how he loved Armin, as they were just two different animals in the same zoo, but still. Important things in his life, things he _was_ doing right.

"Just the... size of it, I guess? Of the, the whole project itself not the _literal_ size.... Every time I got stuck on it, it was just so damn frustrating but," There was a glint in his eye he didn't know was there. But Armin saw, and he wasn't about to look away for even a _second_. "When I saw what I needed to do- i-in my mind- I just got so _excited_ to make it, _happen_. Make it real."

"I thought about what, would happen if I died without finishing that and it _just_... drives me crazy." Jean finished with a grunt, shaking his head and rubbing one of his eyes of sleepiness with his free hand. 

Armin was rubbing his hand over Jean's, a repetitive warming circle working at the delicate bones with his thumb. He let out air through his nose: An innocent laugh. Not mocking, or disbelieving. He may not have fully understood but _this_ was as close a representation of him trying as he could get without words. Armin wasn't a creator, he was a collector. Appreciator of what had already happened. He may never understand what it was like for Jean to want to trade in his life just to get one painting done.

"Maybe They wanted you to live a good life?" 

"Why? Why me?" Aside from not being a believer, Jean had done much worse things before he'd been ill which definitely didn't warrant a better life than the one he'd had.

Armin looked up and around for a bit, before returning their eye contact to give a half smile. "So I could finally find a boyfriend?" 

Jean's jaw parted for a moment, before his head rolled back in laughter. "Wh-hahha-_what!?_ You think the gods care if _you_ find love!? _You_!?" 

"Yeah _me_! Why not me?" But Jean just kept laughing. "Hey! Why _you_ is right!" A rough, quick smack was delivered. "What your _life_ is a big mystery but my love life, _that_ is hard for you to fathom?"

The dreadful chill that had lived in his spine for so long seemed to dissipate the harder Jean laughed, but he did get himself under control. With it, he reached for Armin's hand again, intertwining their fingers. 

"You really think They'd just, let me live so _you_ can be in love, hm? What miracles did you perform to earn that?" Jean teased, voice quieting as he stared into Armin's eyes once more. 

"'Makes more sense than Them killing you over a painting." Armin dared to tease, returning the gentle grip back. "And if it made you _that_ happy?" He leaned in, placing a warm kiss on the side of Jean's mouth that left them both wanting more....

"Finish the damn painting, Jean."

**January**

"Don't trip!" Jean laughed and stopped to let Armin regain his balance. He should've invested in a blindfold! Keeping one of his hands over Armin's eyes made it hard for them both to maneuver through the building.

"I, hmmhhm, wouldn't be if there weren't _three_ left feet between the two of us." He smacked at Jean's legs multiple times.

"_Shh_, we're in a library." Jean whispered before pecking Armin on the ear, causing him to jeer to the side with a yelp.

"If this is," They began walking again. "A marriage proposal? I'm leaving!"

"Ohp! Okay okay let's turn around," Jean tried to steer Armin around, but it only alarmed him. 

"Wait what!? H-hold on let me--" 

"_HA!_ Haahhahaha _oh_ no, no I'm kidding! I'm kidding." Though his heart did pound at the notion, they'd only known each other for a little under two years. It would be at _least_ one more before he could trust himself to make Armin that kind of promise. 

Armin stopped struggling, and Jean could tell there was a stoic, blank disapproval on his face. He refused to move despite Jean's suggesting, feet planted firmly on the ground. Now, Jean _could_ just sweep Armin off his feet and force him onward, but that would ruin the surprise.

"You're terrible." The exasperation would sound real to anyone else, but Jean knew better. 

"Ohhh I learn by example. You're just a bad influence." Jean mocked disappointment, and forward they went. 

"I talked with the staff, _and they agreed_, but only because of everything you do for them. It's only fair." Jean hinted as they got closer to their destination point, his heart shaking and his legs ready to give. Doubts wanted to surface, but he wouldn't let them.

"So this is for me?" Armin sounded genuine, but Jean liked it more to think this was another game. 

"_Yes_." Jean dropped his hand from Armin's face, and stepped to his side.

Hung up on the wall of the history section of the library, was a massive painting, with a variety of color and abstract images from one end that gradually became more clear and structured. Flowers, and bushes, and rain, and more flowers in between. At the end was _yellow_, yellow flowers. Rhododendrons. Many were yellow and purple though all kinds were there. They weren't exact or specific and they still managed to bleed together, but Jean was never very concerned with realism.

"You...." Armin gasped, still as stone as he studied the painting on the wall. "You finished it...." It was all truly amazing. Not the painting itself but the fact that _Jean_ had finished it. Finally. 

"Well, yeah!" He was quickly shushed by multiple people in the distance, but he was too excited to care.

Armin grabbed Jean's hand again, and walked forward, getting a closer look. 

"D-do you like it?" 

"Of _course_ I... I **love** it! Jean... it's...." Armin turned to look Jean in the eye, his gentle, unreadable expression bringing an overwhelming sense of success in him. 

Looking back at the masterpiece, Armin let out a sigh. And after some short, silent admiration, he looked back to Jean again. 

"It's done."

**Author's Note:**

> "But wait, Armin said Jean's name before he introduced himself!" Oh? OH? Oh? Oh. Oh? Oh! Oh?
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this one. It's an idea that's sort of a new pet project of mine that I'm gonna keep nice n' toasty here in my brain.


End file.
